[CLOSED] Fornata / Soho, London

In essence, this is a calzone. Albeit a tiny calzone with a big meaty center. And pickles.

We do enjoy a bit of novelty from time to time. So bring on Fornata, a new Italian tapas slash small plates slash Soho backstreet bandwagon-jumper. Yes, those are floorboards stuck to the walls.

The extensive menu suggests sharing a few dishes off the menu, three to four per head, but we came for their take on the burger, coincidentally the most expensive item on it at just under a tenner.

Predictably served on a wooden chopping board, with a few sprigs of lightly dressed lettuce, the burger arrived simultaneously with a baby meatball calzone, which we ordered as a comparison to the burger. Delicate baby Italian pizza pies, if you will.

Cracking it open revealed the steaming patty, cooked medium.. On first taste the meat suffered a touch from underseasoning, but was corrected in part by the saltiness of the drippy mozzarella. In fact, the sun-dried tomato mixed in with the meat almost puts it in meatball class anyway. It added pleasing colour and sweetness, but the pickles brought nothing other than

The sun-ripened tomato spread added both colour and a sweetness to it, but the pickles although present were largely undetectable (Rob picked one out, hot pickles taste weird). Novelty pickle, basically.

The considerable amount of juice from the meat and cheese had metamorphosed the dough on the underside to the consistency of a huge gyoza. It was a nice contrast to the classic Italian pizza crust texture of the top.

In essence, this is a calzone. Albeit a tiny calzone with a big meaty center. And pickles. Although diminutive in stature (placing it on a tapas style menu allows Fornata to get away with this, kind of) and exorbitantly pricey as a result, it’s a nice, inoffensively mild pizza-with-a-hint-of-burger.

So on to the proper meatball calzone, which was ever so slightly smaller (presumably because it had a meatball instead of a burger in it). It was far superior. The addition of a rich creamy tomato sauce gave it the extra kick. A much better dish.

We might go back to Fornata. It’s totally unoffensive, really. A competent backup option for when those other nearby small plates Italian places are too full but not somewhere to seek out.

But we are yearning for something a bit more substantial. Someone open a large plate Italian restaurant please. Italian food looks so doleful on such tiny plates for this price.

• Simon.
• Rob (I think it would be a good place for a date).

Bukowski Grill / Shoreditch, London

Rob

Oh my giddy aunt, where to start with this one.

Trust the entrepreneurs of Shoreditch to create a pop-up mall from things:

a) Michael Bay blows up in an average action sequence.

b) The unscrupulous use to move illegal immigrants about.

Shipping container locale aside, the feel of Bukowski Grill is weird: it’s got hints of a classic muted diner (the low hanging lamps, the Americana-heavy musak), but oddly crossed with a rustic feel. It was as if someone had bunged a short order cafe in the middle of the woods. Of Shoreditch.

Anyway.

Now, regular readers will know our opinions on the Open versus Closed bun issue. Well, when the cheeseburger arrived, we were confronted with a burger prep paradox: it was a closed bun. BUT, the pickles were on side AND there were no condiments inside. Completely unsauced.

As for the burger itself, the meat was pretty good, interestingly seasoned with what we though was a hint of porkiness. Bun was crunchy, and perhaps over toasted. The double gloucester cheddar was far too overbearing in the burger and overpowers the subtle flavour of the burger entirely. All condiments are hand made, and the mayo has a nice garlicky finish to it, but the only mustard on the premises they had was a pungent Dijon-esque horseradish variety. Odd choice for a burger joint that doesn’t serve roast beef.

Also slightly unsettling are the strange deli nuisances about the place: they offer a foccacia burger bun, which they’ll probably find doesn’t get ordered much at all. At least we hope not.

As for the other burger we ordered. Oh dear.

This motherfucker (legitimate swears, it’s called the Mother F) cut in half looked like a prop limb from a Saw movie.

We like our burgers rare to medium but one of these patties was raw to the point that it was still cold in the middle. You could see the fat. Despite some reservations, we persevered, under the impression that this was how was supposed to be. We stopped when nearing the middle. It was cold.

Now, disclaimer time, it was only their second day of opening. BUT, it was hardly super busy and they weren’t rushed off their feet (we were there around 3pm). The sous chef was eager to replace the burger for us, but due to time constraints, we had to leg it. So they were very kind in taking 50% off the already discounted bill (20% off for an introductory period). The service was great. The chips were nice.

Simon

What more to say.

Well, the boxes in the BOXPARK itself are adorable. Super cute.

As for the Bukowski Grill itself, the key point Rob hasn’t touched on, and one that is not apparent until you get into the place itself, is that this is a Spanish Burger Joint.

I have had one memorable Spanish burger, and that was at a branch of Ferran Adrià’s maladroitly named Fast Good in Madrid.

Once you embrace the Iberian heritage, a lot of the operational choices seem to make some kind of sense. At least a little bit.

The tomato on the burger is dehydrated (oven dried they call it). The brioche bun (I also balked at the focaccia option) is perfectly fine, but arrives completely unsauced. The mayo is an a squeezy bottle. The homemade ketchup is in a Heinz bottle. The aforementioned mustard is completely unsuitable and in a jar. There was also some chutney or something, for no discernible reason.

Now, the cheeseburger itself was perfectly satisfactory. Relatively unfussy. A solid C+. The beef is cooked in a baby Josper grill. An adorable thing itself, but not particularly well suited to cooking a burger. You get better results from a flat-top, and considering they’re not serving steaks, this seems like an expensive and unsuitable arrangement. It also means the cheese can’t be cloched. Combine that with a dense, heavy cheddar and a burger already lacking in wetness, it doesn’t come together well.

I won’t labour further on the poisonously undercooked Mother F. They were apologetic enough at the time and I’m sure they’ll sort their Josper timings out.

What with burger competition increasing week to week in London, I don’t think we’ll be back.

Afterword

Charles Bukowski is one of my favourite authors, and as a result I was hoping that the style and ethos of his work would be reflected in this place. Apart from the old school typewriter font menus (Bukowski fact - he used knackered portable Underwood typewriters in his early correspondence and writing), it isn’t. At all. Sad times.

• Rob.

Joe Allen / Covent Garden, London

OK, as a precursor to this review, let me throw down some B/A burger theory for y’all. Burgers are usually served up in one of two ways:

• The ‘Open’ Burger

Whereby the lid of the bun is placed separately on the plate or partially resting on the edge of a burger, revealing the meaty innards and other contents. Occasionally the bun lid will be bare, occasionally it will play host to the salad elements of the burger, occasionally the ‘salad’ will be on the side of the plate, occasionally they will place it on the burger. Condiments may or may not be included. There appear to be no steadfast rules on this. Usually applied by restaurant burger offerings.

• The ‘Closed’ Burger

The bun lid is on top of the burger and all composite ingredients are already tucked in. For the most part, this is the method of the convenience burger industry. Now, the ‘Open’ method innately suggests that the burger is incomplete and that the eater will add his or her condiments, the salad items of his or her choosing, and close the bun content in the knowledge that personal preference has been satisfied in this area. But come on guys, this is real laziness. Some of the genuine joy of trying a new burger for me is seeing how the place has made it and what ingredients they have used.

A burger should be served as a whole and should be a product of the flavour choices the chef has chosen to combine into a good sandwich. Leaving the top open is close to heresy in this respect and is a major bugbear of mine.

Like, a restaurant wouldn’t serve a chicken and mushroom pie with the pasty top at the side and the chicken and mushroom in separate dishes so the diner can decide how the meat to veg ratio is best would they? No. Exactly.  

So with that all off my chest, let’s move on to the Joe Allen Bacon Cheeseburger…

Everything about this burger is pretty good:

• the bun is a robust yet satisfyingly squidgy brioche
• the patty is thick with quality meat
• they don’t half fling a fuck-ton of nicely melted cheese on it.

But then we get to the ‘Open’ situation.

Two spears of pickle and a whole, thick slice of raw onion cosy up to the side of the burger for potential insertion. Ketchup and American mustard are requested. Everyone at the table sets about constructing their burger like kids eagerly making a space station out of lego: I add two of the larger rings of onion, both pickle spears and, using the tried and tested Meatwagon technique, I alternately lattice my ketchup and mustard onto the bun lid.

Then we eat.

Exclamations of how good the burger is bounce around the table, and yes, my burger tastes kinda great: the right sauce distribution, heavy on the pickle, relatively light on the onion. But then, it should taste how I like it. I CONSTRUCTED IT.

And this is the point I’m trying to make: I don’t want to know have a good idea of how the burger is going to taste, I want it to be a mystery. That’s why we love burgers so much, because each one can be unique even though the basics are essentially the same. So even though I enjoyed it, there was a slight pang of disappointment.

joeallen.co.uk

• Rob.

The Joe Allen burger is an off-menu “secret” item.

The Admiral Codrington / Chelsea, London

Nestled on a road a stone’s throw from the Conrans and Chanels of South Kensington, ‘The Cod’ is an upmarket pub, of a similar ilk to the area it’s in (the bar staff all wear matching formal striped shirts, pints cost over four quid), but luckily lacking it’s pretention and stuffiness. Still, I went in wearing a hoodie and carrying a Boots carrier bag and felt like a right tramp.

The burgers’ arrival were greeted a with hushed silence from the table. The patty looked HUGE, and the juices flowing down the burger onto the plate were so mesmerising I made a video of it. Seriously.

On first bite, there’s a rich, sweet ketchuppy tang. Under the top bun is a deep red spread, which I was later told was primarily onion, red wine and tomato juice reduced down to an almost-puree and then thinly spread. It was a brilliant addition, and complimented the patty, which was moist and soft, adding a depth to the meatiness and sweetness of the beef..

This was paired with a sauce, which I gathered was a mayonnaise with flecks of coarse-grain dijon mingled in. This, mixed with the meat, the reduction, and the pickles meant every delicious taste blended and combined to create something very original and, I think, quite special.

All the juice of the burger, the sauce and tomato conspired to decimate the bottom of the bun, it capitulated quickly. But I couldn’t say I really cared, the taste of the whole thing was so *interesting* and jammed full of *flavour*. 

Now, at 15 notes, this is squarely in the pricey end of the burger spectrum. Hawksmoor money. But, I’d say it’s well worth it. And the place itself lends itself to a nice, relaxing dinner. So, next time you fancy a burger for, say a birthday, or an anniversary, or fuck it, a Wednesday, get yourself down here.

Oh, wait, the **SNACKS**:

Hats off to the mini sausages. These were INSANELY good. Ever so slightly bigger than a cocktail sausage. Covered in a honey and Dijon Mustard glaze, they had a caramel-like quality in it’s consistency and sweetness. They went. Quickly. The calamari rings were fresh, crisp, not greasy at all, combined with slithers of green chilli peppers that added real fire. The Pork crackling was thinly sliced like skinny curly fries, light and bubbly with a rich, sweet apple dipping sauce - very clever. 

theadmiralcodrington.co.uk

• Rob.

Hawksmoor Guildhall / Guildhall, London

“It feels odd saying that you should visit a steakhouse to sample the pastry chef’s baking.”

Hawksmoor introducing breakfast as a permanent fixture at their new Guildhall location is smart. I’ve already spent a few hundred words on how damn smart they are, so let’s look at the actual food.

Chemex

Smart. Looks grandiose. Unusual to find too, since most places will happily charge you £3-a-pop on coffee, to the extent you’ll only have one, and then leave feeling under-caffeinated. Chemex is smart. A word of warning though, it certainly doesn’t stay warm for long.

The H&K muffin

Evil genius. There are two eggs in there. It has the same cheese/starch/meat combo hit of a McMuffin, but does it without the dirt. It’s £8.50. That’s a bargain.

Eggs Benedict

The ability to deliver a good eggs benny is the yardstick I’ve long used to rank restaurants in order of breakfast ability. Keeping a good hollandaise going is tough. It demonstrates skills. It’s also something you’re rarely arsed to make from scratch at home. Again, it’s perfectly executed here. One of the best I’ve had in the UK, especially if, like me, you like your hollandaise nice and vinegary. The quality of the ham helps elevate it too.

Marmelade French Toast

A small portion, but it’s rich. Light, fluffy but with expansive qualities. I’m not a marmelade guy at all, but the dish maintains a sweet and citrussy thrall, with just enough sugar. Mrs D felt it slightly underdone, but that’s just how I like it. How did they know. Etc. etc.

Scotch Pancakes with bacon

The difference here is the maple syrup is proper and that these are scotch pancakes. They’re not buttermilky American pancakes. Think dropscone and add some more lemon. Nice.

Doughnuts. Baked Goods.

The secret weapon. Right up there with the very, very best. It feels odd saying that you should visit a steakhouse to sample the pastry chef’s baking.

The Point of it All

If you’ve been putting off visiting Hawksmoor due to wallet restrictions, then my advice is book a table for breakfast and go for it. You can spend £15-20 per head and get some of the best morning food in the capital. Keep away from the steak and you’ll be fine. I’m sure the steak and eggs are lovely, but they’re not going to be as special as these Britished-up takes on American breakfast classics.

Be sure to check out the breakfast gallery for pictures of all of the above

and then have a quick read of our essay on why Hawksmoor are so fricking smart.

• Simon.

Hawksmoor